Happy Birthday, Shan!
There comes a time, a time in everyone's life
Where nothing seems to go your way
Where nothing seems to turn out right
Let it be Me, Ray LaMontagne
Tony is almost dead on his feet, a few fifteen hour days certainly don't feel like they used to especially since she isn't here. He can't even begin to think about all the phone calls, the emails and the mundane daily tasks that have been ignored. He stops at his apartment door, fiddles for his keys and sighs, hoping he didn't leave them in his car. Ah ha! They are in his jacket pocket. He doesn't even remember putting them in there. He is running on fumes. Tony just wants to have a scotch, put on a movie and fall asleep until Sunday.
He unlocks the front door, drops his backpack, and locks up his gun. He wanders into his bedroom and changes out of his Armani suit. Tony dons sweatpants and his beloved Ohio State sweatshirt. He's ready to be a hermit for the weekend. Then, he makes way to his dry bar and pours himself a drink. He walks to his bookcase, searching for a movie, with an inclination to watch something dirty or gritty a la Steve McQueen. But he can't seem to shake the feeling he should be watching something with long-lost love, heartbreak or just romance. He will never utter those words outside of this apartment. McGee will have a field day endlessly taunting him. Abby, in her comforting way will hug him and tell him everything would be okay, she would then make him squeeze Bert because, according to her, how can you not be in to better mood when you hug a farting hippo. Gibbs, well, he will not venture down that path. He plans to commiserate alone.
Tony brings his scotch over to the piano. He can't remember the last time he sat down and played. Perhaps it is the tiredness creeping up, maybe it's the warm scotch floating around in his bloodstream, maybe it is just that he misses hispartner. They have gone through separations before but this . . . this feels almost permanent. He is quite aware he can't drink his pain away. He can count the number of times he has done that. Tony knows he has to be a better man this time. At least, he thinks, she's still out there. He smiles as he slide into the middle of the piano bench. He strikes a familiar position as he places his hands on the ivory keys. He instinctively presses down two keys simultaneously as if doing this will transfer the music within himself to the piano. He automatically starts playing Chopsticks for a warm-up. It reminds him of his piano teacher. No rulers in sight, though as he knows he will most likely mess a chord up.
He starts to hum. Play it, he says to the empty room, just play the damn song. He lifts his head up and turns it to the television. A familiar song begins to inhabit the room. "It's still the same old story. . ." He repeats this line, again and again. He grows more angry each time. Same damn story. Another person doesn't want to be with him. "A fight for love and glory" He comes home empty handed and little more jaded when returning from Israel. Loudly and brutish, he allows himself to reveal out loud that Israel frustrates and jades him.
Tony continues to mask the pain of abandonment by drinking to forget. Not that he can do that. She's here with him, all over his apartment. It took eight years for her to make an appearance here. There were times, he thinks, he wanted her. He thought that she would discover that maybe, just maybe revealing his world would diminish who they are to each other. In hindsight, it would have strengthened it. He slurs the next line of the song,"A case of do or die"" His mind wanders. Tony tries to imagine where his partner is, and hoping what she is searching for is found soon so she can come back to him.
He's angry. He doesn't want to be but some situations don't work out. This just sucks. Going through a breakup usually he wallows, drinks too much wine then moves on within three days; this calls for more drastic measures.
He's angry because he'll never get to experience waking up next to her on a Sunday morning. He'll never get to curl up on the couch and watch a movie then fall asleep with her. He'll never get to say, 'I love you.' He'll never have a chance to ask her to come home.
Home. He stops playing the piano and looks around. All this for what, to be alone. It's why he works so much. He gets to be with people not just his thoughts. (Those can be very dangerous.) As he tells himself, he should call it quits and go to bed but he knows he'll just toss and turn. (All while trying to hold onto her scent on the pillow.) He's grasping at straws. This entire separation was not boding well for Tony.
This is what she did. He should not reacting like this – but he damn well can, he decides. He needs her – as a best friend, a sounding board, a confidante, a prankster, his number one speed-dial.
She just needs a sign that she is faring well. Okay being the ironic word. More like fine. He needs that. She knows how to complicate things. Fuck them up so good that nothing else will be as sweet or as glorious as her. Even her darkest times. She doesn't make friends. She's misunderstood. She needs stability, love and nurturing.
When he left her at the airport, for the second time, he was once against wondering why they aren't together. He was one short.
No rest for the weary. Tony hopes that Gibbs knows or feels compelled not to call him until Monday. Rather he hopes that no bodies are found or called in until then. A man can dream.
Tony nods off then he wakes up by the sound of the piano key being plucked. His head shoots up and he looks around. There she was, standing next to the piano. Tony rubs his eyes. "Clearly, I'm so drunk I'm hallucinating," He mutters.
"I am not a dream, Tony."
"Yes, you are sweetcheeks."
"I didn't mean to disturb your party for one . . . I should not have come."
"Why are you here?"
She doesn't respond to Tony's question. Instead, she just leans into his body – establishing a connection Tony thought he would never have again. It makes him feel uncomfortable yet reenergizes him.
Ziva's hands softly touch his shoulders. She gently massages them, reassuring him that she is standing right behind him. He feels her breath on his neck, causing all the hairs throughout his entire body to stand up, sending tingles. He wants to cry out in ecstacy but he talks himself out of it. They haven't done anything yet. All she did was breathe. God, he thought, I'm not prepared for this. Even though, it's what he wants.
He reminisces about the four months he spent in Israel, off the grid with Ziva. He smiles remembering he woke up next to her, replacing logical or coherent remark he had for her. The off the grid charade gave Tony (and Ziva) a glimpse of what the shot of domesticity could look like. But she unilaterally made the decision regarding the outcome (for now) of their relationship.
He wants to be what she needs – though he's not sure she even knows what that is. He wants to her family, her home, he just wants her.
Ziva lightly traces her lips around the outside of his left ear, drawing him out of his thoughts. With that, Tony reaches and grabs Ziva, causing her to lay across Tony's lap. Her arm were around his neck. For a moment, it was if time stopped and all they had was each other. No words, no sudden movements. She impulsively adjusts herself so she and Tony are sitting face to face. Ziva's harried move caused some piano keys to depress, plucking sounds that Ziva didn't expect.
Tony pushes his heels ever so slightly into the ground shimmying the piano bench back a foot. He didn't warn his partner about his abrupt move. She laughs as she tries to keep her awkward balance.
Ziva moves up so she can look at him, but also to eliminate the unwanted distraction of the Middle C but creating a gap that makes Tony more reactive to her movements.
He grabs her hips, bringing her closer to his mouth and his fingers wander lifting up her shirt. He lightly peppers Ziva's exposed stomach with kisses. This action causes her to tremble. Tony half-stands as his hands unclasp her belt making a clearance to unbutton the top snap of her green khakis. She trembles more. Tony looks at her and smiles.
His fingers trace her black lacy underwear that peaks out from behind the zipper of her pants. Tony begins to slip off her pants. Never losing eye contact he attempts to sloppily remove his pants he remarks, "Where was I?"
Ziva breathlessly points to herself. Her legs spread open, feet hanging past the piano keys. Tony's tongue licks the inside of her. He gently uses his left two forefingers to assist him. Tony slowly sucks her inside his mouth, the wetness of her clitoris was transferred to Tony. This move signals Ziva to wriggle and squirm. She moans.
Ziva runs her hands through his hair, ever so slightly Tony's tongue lashes deeper inside of her. She lifts his head, signalling she wants him. All of him, inside of her. She slides down onto Tony's erect shaft. His back arches, he moans. "Ziva … oh god … Ziva." She slowly moves up and down, Tony's body reacts with every movement.
She wraps her legs around him and they come together. They don't untangle. Tony leans in, kissing Ziva. Their hands move up and down each other's backs. As if they are continuing to verify what took place.
Tony looks to Ziva, "Now will you answer my question?" They come apart and redress. They meander over to the couch. Tony, sensing this night is just beginning, makes a couple drinks before sitting down in front of his parter.
"I left because I thought I needed to be alone, but letting you board that plane was not a wise decision. I am not asking you to give up anything. I want you to have your job, this life …" Tony hold up his finger signalling her stop. She finishes her thought. "I want to be with you, Tony. In whatever way you will have me."
He smiles, "Including the way I just had you."
"Yes."
"What does that mean for us?"
"I don't know." She shakes her head. "I thought coming here would make the decision easier."
He laughs, "In all the time we've known each other, when has it ever been easy?"
She sighs deeply, "Nothing worth having is ever easy, is it?" Tony reaches up and brings Ziva close him again. She hovers right in front of his face, staring at him. She strokes his cheek then gently kisses him on the lips.
He holds up his drink. He looks at her with his crooked smile, and says "It gets easier, as time goes by."